Certain Death
by 13en-writes-all
Summary: In the future where our decendents have colonized the universe, young Chris Redfield shocks the universe by making the highest score on the Military Entrance Exam in history. Following the discovery, he's assigned to Captain Wesker's unit team S.T.A.R.s, and soon discovers a conspiracy so vast it could mean Certain Death. Rated M for violence, language, and sistuations...
1. Test

**Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil or Biohazard as it's called in Japan. And I would like to say this is the first time I've attempted a multi-story Resident Evil Fanfiction, and a Sci-fi fic at that so please bear with me. I'm feeling a little adventurous, and thought I might as well give it a try. And I would like to say, I have no problem with bad reviews, if you have any criticism, then sister/brother BRING IT ON!**

 **Part 1 – Basic Training**

June 8th, 1977, Protocol 1, a law of war created after the Geneva Convention gave the definition of a Mercenary:

1\. A mercenary shall not have the right to be a combatant or a prisoner of war

2\. A mercenary is a person who:

a. is especially recruited locally or abroad in order to fight in an armed conflict  
b. does, in fact, take part in the hostilities  
c. is motivated to take part in the hostilities essentially by the desire for private gain and, in fact, is promised, or on behalf of a party to the conflict, material compensation substantially in excess of that promised or paid to combatants of similar ranks and functions in the armed forces of that Party  
d. is neither a national of a Party to the conflict nor a resident of territory controlled by a Party to the conflict  
e. is not a member of the armed forces of a Party to the conflict  
f. has not been sent by a State which is not a Party to the conflict on official duty as a member of the armed forces.

January 2nd, 2018, the Washington D.C. office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation hires Blackwater Mercenary David Michael Richards to hunt down a Serial Killer targeting members of Congress.

May 3rd, 2018, Richards identifies the Congress Killer as former Secret Service agent Brad Michaels.

June 7th, 2018, Richards is regarded as the man that saved U.S. President Lauren Williams, the first female U.S. President.

June 7th, 2042, Retired Blackwater Operative & Congressman David M. Richards is present on the thirty fourth anniversary of when he saved former President Lauren Williams from former Secret Service agent Brad Michaels at a televised meeting on Capitol Hill that passes the DMR Bill, a congressional document that gives Private Military companies the ability to start their own divisions within the U.S. Military.

November 12th, 2098, the first city-sized colony is set up on Mars complete with trade-routes, the Blackwater division of the United Earth military are given Police powers.

October 17th, 2121, the discovery of faster-than-light space travel leads to four colonies being established in three solar systems surrounding Sol, the Blackwater division is turned into the Blackwater Military.

May 1st, 2122, a routine patrol to test the possible colonization of a planet in an unexplored galaxy leads to a skirmish between an unknown alien empire known as the Great Space Alliance which causes the First Contact War.

May 2nd, the population of a species known as Tigra split between the Great Space Alliance and the Blackwater Military.

May 9th, with several million Tigra now on the side of the advancing Blackwater Military, the Great Space Alliance considers surrender.

May 17th, another species known as Altanians join sides with the Blackwater Military and force the surrender of several founding species of the Great Space Alliance.

May 21st, the Great Space Alliance signs the Blackwater Pact, officially notifying their surrender.

June 1st, 2122, the Blackwater Military is renamed the Blackwater Army and dissolved into the Space Defense Force, forming the Alliance Military.

March 29th, 2180, a bill is passed through the Great Space Alliance saying all adolescents, age sixteen or above must go through basic training for the military before they turn twenty, and take the MT-8, a test that shows where you stand in terms of where you should be in the military.

While basic training is mandatory, military service is voluntary.

May 6, 2276, Terragrigia, a large Kepler-6b planet, and the GSA's Basic Training camp for advanced military students, and May 6th was the day the students dreaded – it was time to take the MT-8.

For a young six-foot-one, twenty-year-old Caucasian human male named Chris Redfield it was the most stressful day of his life, every recruit dreaded taking the test, he wanted nothing more than to be a pilot like his old man, Tiberius James Redfield who received the Crest of Damocles for his heroic actions in the battle of Titan VI during the Great Biohazard War.

In order to be a pilot, though, a recruit has to make at least a 10.50 on the MT-8, and the average recruit is lucky to make a 5.10 which would only qualify them for the Infantry Corps, and at best the O.D.T. (Orbital Drop Troopers).

Chris and his fellow recruits entered the testing room which was a large dome-shaped building where the recruits would be strapped into chairs very similar to the chairs used in The Matrix to enter the Matrix where they would take the test in a simulated environment.

The recruits wore mid-shin black leather lace-up shoes, digital Prussian blue, black, and ash-grey camo pants, and ash-grey tee-shirts.

Jogging single-file into the testing room with their Drill-Sergeant behind them, the recruits entered the trailer save for one recruit who slipped on the stairs, and fell.

Chris knelt down to help give the recruit a hand up, and as he helped the recruit to his feet, the Sergeant walked up to them, "RECRUIT REDFIELD," He yelled, "WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO?"

"Sir, nothing sir!" Chris exclaimed.

"Then why'd you help him," the Sergeant asked, "You two fucking?"

"Sir, no sir," Chris exclaimed, "I was just trying to help a fellow recruit!"

"You are learning how to be soldiers," the Sergeant exclaimed, "Not learning how to be friends! Do that again, and I'll break your arm clean off! Now get inside scumbags!"

Chris and the recruit entered, and stood at attention next to their fellow recruits as Lieutenant First Class Michael Talbot walked up to his desk in his dress uniform, "Morning recruits," he said, "Sorry for the wait. Today is the most important day of your young lives. I have to say though I wish you all the best being as the last three recruit classes that have taken this have not made above a 7.50. But do your best. Sound good?"

"Yes sir!" The recruits all exclaimed.

The recruits walked up to Lieutenant Talbot to get their assignment, when it came Chris's turn, he stood at attention in front of the Lieutenant, "Name recruit." He said.

"Cadet Christopher Redfield sir!" Chris exclaimed.

"Station D-12 Cadet." Talbot said.

Chris saluted the Lieutenant, jogged over to D-section, and up to the twelfth chair.

As he sat down, he leaned back which allowed him to look up at the ceiling, as he placed his arms on the arm-rests, a glass dome encased the chair, and two small bars that extended from the sides of the dome, formed an arc over his forehead, and several blue lights drew a blue line across his forehead.

At first Chris thought his brain was on fire, but that changed when he sharply inhaled, and was pulled into the simulated environment to take the test.

The MT-8's questions consist of problem solving, military protocol, psych evaluations, and investigation skills.

As Chris was taking the test, you could see his eyes were moving fast underneath his eyelids, known as Rapid Eye Movement or R.E.M., the same thing happens when you dream.

The MT-8 consists of 5,000 questions, but the recruits only have four hours to take the exam. The average recruit never makes it past 2,000, the record in 2226 stood at 3,562 questions answered, and interestingly enough, the same person that had the record for the most questions answered also had the highest score of 36.94.

When the four-hour alarm had sounded, Chris had made it through 2,689 questions.

When he stepped out there was an RSV-20, a humanoid robot designed to be sort of like a butler stood there with a glass of water, and a small red pill, "You'll be dizzy and nauseous after taking the test," he said as he held out the glass which Chris took, "Take this."

After everyone else took their pills, Chris took the pill which he examined, "This is not the right pill," he said as he placed it back on the tray, stood up, and held out his hand, "The right one please."

The RSV simply held out his hand, and dropped a small blue pill in his hand, "Well done passing the final part of your test," he said as Chris took the pill, "You're the fifth person to spot this."

"Who was the last?" Chris asked.

"Your father," the RSV said, "He was a great student, the person before him to discover this was Councilor Graham who was an Air Corps pilot: he was the third person to notice the pill-swap."

(I'm running out of names guys, and I only know of two good politicians in Resident Evil which are President Adam Benford, and President Graham, every other politician is either corrupted by Umbrella/ The Family, or just a useless sack of shit).

"Thanks," Chris said as he walked down the stairs to stand at attention in front of Lieutenant Talbot's desk.

"For the hundredth time no one has broken the record for the most questions answered on the MT-8," Talbot said, "But Redfield, good work. You answered more questions than anyone else in the class, and you managed to spot the false pill. Fifth person to spot it. Congratulations because your training is complete, and you have authorization to leave. Redfield, you have the go-ahead to pack up your things. The rest of you have time to grab some grub and clean up both the barracks, and yourselves."

Chris went back to his barracks, and as he was packing up his stuff, the Staff-Sergeant that chastised him for helping his fellow recruit up walked in, "Recruit Redfield," he exclaimed as he saw Chris packing up.

"Sir!" Chris exclaimed as he shot into attention.

"Today," the Sergeant said as he stood in front of Chris, "You are no longer dead weight. Today you are a graduate. You still want to be a pilot?"

"It's what my dad did sir." Chris said.

"Indeed," the Sergeant said, "It is customary in this situation to wish you good luck. However, I believe someone like this deserves something a little bit better," the Sergeant reached into the back of his belt, and pulled out a knife sheath.

Chris took the knife by the grip, and unsheathed it, the knife was a twelve inch stainless-steel double-shadow knife.

Chris smiled as he gently ran the blade across the palm of his hand, and then slid it between his index and middle finger, "Beautiful," he said as he re-sheathed the knife.

"Good," the Sergeant said, "It's yours," he placed the knife in Chris's bag, "Take care of it."

"Yes sir," Chris said as he saluted the Sergeant before grabbing his pack, and leaving the barracks.

He took one last look around before walking to the space-elevator.

The space elevator got him to the spaceport located seven hundred kilometers above the planet's surface.

The next shuttle to Chris's home planet of Borealis (we never found out where any of the characters are from, save for their home countries so please, bear with me), a planet very similar to Earth save for the fact that the natural forests are untouched by man.

The shuttle that would take Chris home departed along with fifteen other, mostly aliens, all GSA alien species, and all graduates or active-duty soldiers.

As it flew away from the planet the jump-gate generator on the top of the shuttle activated, and opened a worm-hole straight to Borealis.

Faster-than-light travel is, by itself non-existent for any object because of the Law of Relativity, you can't break the Law of Relativity: you can however go around it.

The math is very complicated, and when it comes to math, I'm as useful as a broken pencil but my theory goes: the Law of Conservation of Energy states that something cannot be created from nothing. You can't create a gateway through space from nothing, but there is something already there: dark matter, which is all over the universe, and by using the dark matter to create a wormhole, any ship of any size came make a jump from one end of the universe to the other.

The trip from one end of the portal is still long because you are traveling through a portal because you're connecting two parts of the universe, galaxy, solar system, etc. into one single tunnel basically which means that light doesn't have time to travel the required distance which would cause the wormhole to become unbearably heavy which causes the object to collapse.

In order for light to catch up to the ship which is making its way across the universe, the ship needs at least five hours inside the wormhole to fully develop when it comes out the other side.

Chris spent most of the six hour ride in the lounge which gave him an excellent view of the wormhole tunnel.

He fell asleep shortly after two hours of watching, and was awoken as the ship dropped out of hyper-speed.

Picking up his bags, he walked up to the exit where upon arriving at the spaceport, he was greeted by familiar sights.

His family owned a two-story house on the north-west side of a small town on the north side of the planet which took a two hour shuttle ride to reach.

It was night time when he arrived in his town, his family's house was only a fifteen minute walk from the station.

As Chris walked along the streets he grew up in, he took some time to admire his surroundings, not much had changed since he left home a year prior to begin basic training, and he still wondered what his father would think, being as he spotted the pill-change.

As he arrived at the front door of his house, and entered, he was greeted by his family's white Gerberian Shepsky (a German Shepard/Siberian Husky mix), Kira.

Chris knelt down to the dog which had grown since he had last seen her, "Hey girl," he said as he stroked the dog across the forehead, "Good to see you," Kira jumped up, placing her arms on Chris's shoulders, and started smothering his face in kisses, "Alright, alright," he pushed Kira to the ground, wiped the slobber off his face, and then stood up, "Hey, where's Claire? Find Claire."

Kira led Chris over to the couch where his fourteen-year old sister Claire had fallen asleep in her silk pajama bottoms, and a plain white shirt.

Chris walked over to her, and placed a hand on her head, "Hey." Chris said.

Claire opened her eyes, and saw the face of her brother, "Chris?" She asked.

"Hey," Chris said, "I'm home."

"Welcome home," Claire said as she sleepily hugged her brother.

"Come on," Chris said as he picked his sister up, "Let's get you to bed."

"But you just got back," Claire said as Chris carried her upstairs, "Can't I stay up a little longer?"

"You have school tomorrow," Chris said, "Tomorrow when you get back, I promise we'll catch up. But you have to go to bed."

"Ok," Claire said as Chris pushed open the door to Claire's bedroom open with his foot, set his sister down, and covered her up.

"Good night," Chris said as he kissed his sister on the forehead.

Back on Terragrigia…

Lieutenant Talbot was sending the student's tests through the grading machine, and when he came across Chris's score, his jaw fell open so fast it nearly flew right off his face.

Chris had scored a 68.05, he had beaten the previous record score by 31.11 points which was inconceivable.

Lieutenant Talbot recorded Chris's test results, rushed out his office, and to the base Colonel's office.

Talbot placed the file down on Colonel Kaufman's desk, "A sixty eight," Kaufman asked, "Something like this has been inconceivable ever since the MT-8 was created."

"The highest score has stood for over two decades," Lieutenant Talbot said, "What should we do?"

"I'll tell you what we're going to do," Kaufman said as he took the file from off his desk, walked over to his coat rack, and slid on his military-dress jacket, "I'm going to take this to Councilor Graham. He deserves to see this."

Kaufman caught the next shuttle to Almas left when he stepped aboard.

It took him about seven hours to get to Almas, the capital of the Galactic Space Alliance.

Almas is Arabic for Diamond, and Almas deserved that name no question, being a giant space station originally carved from a giant asteroid made almost completely out of one diamond about 43.453 kilometers, or twenty seven miles big, making Almas the single biggest diamond to be harvested in the history of mankind.

The outside itself is covered in a special alloy that makes it almost completely indestructible.

Kaufman had full officer credentials, and being best friends with Councilor Graham, he was granted access to the Council Tower.

Upon arriving at the Council Tower, he was greeted by Captain Albert Wesker, CO of the Fifty Eighth Special Operations Brigade also known as the STARS, "Colonel," he said as he stood at attention in front of Kaufman.

"Captain," Colonel Kaufman said, "Is Councilor Graham around here?"

"Yes sir," Wesker said, "He's in a meeting."

"I'm here to talk to him," Colonel Kaufman said, "I have something that needs to be brought to his attention."

As Colonel Kaufman entered the conference room, Councilor Graham was talking to Councilor Benford.

"Colonel," Councilor Graham said as he looked up at the Colonel, "Of what do me and Councilor Benford owe the pleasure?"

"Something serious," Colonel Kaufman said as he walked up, and placed the tablet on his desk, "Someone has beaten your score on the MT-8."

Councilor Graham picked up the file, "By how much," He asked as he opened the score, when he saw the score, his jaw nearly fell off his face.

"Thirty one point eleven points." Colonel Kaufman said.

"That's the highest score ever," Councilor Benford said, "What do you think protocol dictates?"

"Protocol dictates we talk to him." Colonel Kaufman said.

"Where does he live?" Councilor Benford asked.

"Borealis," Colonel Kaufman said, "He is the son of Tiberius Redfield."

"Little Chris," Councilor Benford asked, "He beat my score?"

"You know Tiberius Redfield sir?" Colonel Kaufman asked.

"I'm a former Pilot Corps," Councilor Benford said, "James and I were in the same squadron."

"Great," Colonel Benford said, "Permission to go with you."

"Granted." Councilor Benford said.

 _Guess what happens next…_


	2. Time Home

**Part 2 – Time Home**

The following afternoon, Tiberius had taken Chris out into the woods of Borealis, Tiberius was using his father's M1A rifle, Chris walked behind him carrying _his_ father's Model 1895GSBL lever-action rifle.

Wild boar, like on Earth in the 21st Century had become a problem ever since someone dropped a whole pack of the animals in the forests of the planet.

Tiberius often took Chris out on hunts before he was sent off to boot camp, now that Chris was trained, it was time to teach him about moving in the wilderness.

"Keep low son," Tiberius whispered, "We don't want to alert the animals to our presence. It's the same thing in a war zone."

"Yes sir," Chris said as he moved silently behind his father.

"I see boar-sign," Tiberius said as he knelt to the ground, and signaled Chris to join him, he pointed to the ground where a hidden boar-print was, "This kind of print means he's close. How can you tell if it's close?"

"If it's muddy like it is today," Chris said as he brushed the grass aside, "You check how moist it is, and this one's fresh. We're close."

"Good eye," Tiberius said as he raised his rifle, "Follow me."

Chris followed his father to a small patch of trees where, about two hundred yards out was a large boar, the boars on the planet had grown a little different than the ones on Earth being as the wood on the planet's trees can be either very brittle or very tough, and the boars still haven't learned which ones are the good ones or the bad ones so they developed an extra pair of horns in case they lose the first two.

This bad boy had to be about four feet long and easily two hundred pounds, "There," Chris said, "There he is, dad."

"Huge guy isn't he," Tiberius asked, "You know where to put the bullet?"

"Yes sir," Chris said as he cocked the rifle, and raised it to his shoulder, the scope on the end of the rifle gave a good image of the hog who stopped to check for that noise.

"There's a slight wind to the east," Tiberius said, "At this distance, however, you don't need to worry."

"Yes sir," Chris said as he slowed his breath to steady his aim, aimed right at the boar's ribs, and squeezed the trigger.

The bullet caught the boar low, right at the front of the ribcage.

The boar squealed and collapsed in the grass.

Chris and Tiberius jogged up to the hog who was just lying there, dead.

Tiberius leaned down to inspect the wound, "There it is," he said as he pointed to the bullet-wound, "Very clean."

Tiberius's robotic companion appeared. The robot was about the size of a Ghost from Destiny but bared an almost uncanny resemblance a Monitor from Halo.

The Specters were created by the Tigra to

"Very nice kill." It said.

"Spark," Tiberius said, "Scan it."

Spark's central eye glowed bright orange and a small X-ray appeared and focused on the boar, and showed the path on which the bullet traveled.

"It seems the bullet traveled just twenty-eight degrees short of a right angle," Spark said, "Three bones are broken, right lung and heart punctured, left lung lacerated."

"Not bad," Tiberius said as he turned toward Chris and smiled, "You know Chris if you don't become a pilot, you'd be a damn good sniper."

"Maybe," Chris said, "What do you say we get this thing back to the cooler?"

"We can get it back to the truck," Tiberius said, "But we have to skin and butcher this thing before we get it home."

Tiberius and Chris carried the pig back to the truck, the two of them hung the pig from the nearest tree, removed the organs, and skinned the boar.

As they were cutting off the shoulder with Tiberius's M9 bayonet, the sound of footsteps behind them made them turn around to see Councilor Benford.

"Adam," Tiberius said as he walked up to the Councilor.

"Hello James," Councilor Benford said as he walked up to embrace his friend.

"What are you doing here," Tiberius asked as they pulled apart, "The celebration of Galore Six isn't for another two weeks."

"I'm actually here to see Chris," Councilor Benford said as he walked up to Chris, "Good to see you again soldier."

"I passed my MT-8?" Chris asked.

"That's for later Chris," Councilor Benford said, "Right now what do you say we finish butchering this thing?"

Councilor Benford pitched in to help skin the boar, it took a while to finish skinning and cutting the hog, and when they were done, they loaded up Tiberius's truck and took off.

After returning to the house, Chris took the ribs from the cooler and started preparing them.

"You're going to cook?" Tiberius asked.

"I learned how," Chris said as he started making a special rub with Applewood smoked sea salt, freshly ground pepper, garlic & onion powder, cayenne pepper, and brown sugar.

The sauce was made of tomato paste, molasses, habanero sugar, chili powder, and salt.

Tiberius fired up the smoker which Chris put the ribs into, and left it in there for about six hours.

The three guys spent most of those six hours on the gun range.

When they returned, Claire had returned from school, and so had Chris's mother, Maria.

"Adam," Maria said as she walked up to Councilor Benford, and hugged him.

"Hello Maria," Councilor Benford said as they pulled apart.

"It's been a while," Maria said, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm actually here to speak to Chris," Councilor Benford said, "He's made quite a high score on the MT-8."

"How high?" Maria asked.

"That's for later," Councilor Benford said, "For now, I think Chris's food is almost ready."

"Chris's food," Claire asked, "He can't cook."

"I've learned," Chris said as he walked outside to the smoker, and removed the ribs.

As Chris brought the ribs inside, the entire house filled with the smell of Chris's cooking.

"Wow Chris," Maria said, "That smells amazing."

"I know," Chris said, "I think it should taste as good as it smells."

Over dinner, Councilor Benford was talking about an engagement between him and Tiberius's squad, and a squad of fighters under the command of the Red Dragon Triad.

"So I've got the last of the Dragons behind us," Councilor Benford said as he pointed behind him, then pointed to Tiberius, "Then this one comes up, and saves my ass but flies right through the explosion," everyone at the table laughed, "His port engine cut off, he goes spinning, and we have to wait about five hours for the second engine to stop. When we pry the cockpit open, the entire cockpit is covered in vomit."

Chris nearly choked on his rib he started laughing so hard.

"It's amazing the talent we had back on the old squad," Tiberius said, "I made a 20.56 on my MT-8," he then pointed at Councilor Benford, "This one currently holds the record for the MT-8 at 36.94."

"Actually no," Councilor Benford said, "I'm afraid my record was beaten not two days ago on Terragrigia."

"By who?" Tiberius asked.

"Who else?" Councilor Benford asked.

It was at that moment that all eyes on the table fell on Chris, "Me," Chris asked, "What'd I make," Councilor Benford picked up a crystalized-heat tablet and held it out to Chris who opened it, and when he saw his score, if his jaw had opened any faster, it would have come unhinged, "68.05?"

"What," Tiberius asked as he took the tablet from Chris's hand, "That's inconceivable!"

"I'm afraid it's conceivable now," Councilor Benford said, "I'm afraid this has already started making headlines," he pointed at the tablet.

Tiberius swiped his hand across the tablet's screen to show a newspaper story, the headline read: _Mystery Student Breaks MT-8 Record!_

The tagline below read, "Just two days ago on Terragrigia, a recruit whose name has yet to be announced broke Head Councilor Benford's record score on the MT-8 of 36.94 with a score of 68.05. Councilor Benford himself said he will be returning to Almas with the young soldier."

"Just great," Tiberius said as he handed the tablet back to Chris who had pretty much the same reaction, "My son has become a news story!"

"This is big news Tiberius," Councilor Benford said, "He passed the MT-8 with an unthinkable score. Which is why I would like to offer him a small contract," Councilor Benford tapped the side of the tablet which pulled up the contract he wanted Chris to sign.

"I sign this contract and you guarantee me a house on Almas," Chris began, "The best gear and training, and…" Chris examined the contract closely, "Is that number right?"

"Does it say two hundred and fifty thousand a year?" Councilor Benford asked.

"That's two hundred thousand above what a normal infantryman gets," Tiberius said.

"The money comes with the job," Councilor Benford said as he looked at Chris, "Chris, no one wants to admit it, but we're at war. Bioterrorism is the biggest threat we've faced ever since the founding of the GSA. With a score like yours, you could mean the difference in this war."

"Would I still be able to train as a pilot?" Chris asked.

"With your score, you'd be able to pilot any ship in the entire fleet." Councilor Benford said.

Tiberius put his hand on Chris's shoulder, "Do what you think is best son," he said, "You know what this means though."

"Yes I do," Chris said as he retrieved the pen mounted on top of the tablet, signed his John Doe on the bottom line, and handed it back to Councilor Benford, "I'm in Councilor."

"I knew you were smart Chris," Councilor Benford said as he held out his hand, "Welcome to the GSA Military."

Chris shook the Councilor's hand, and smiled, "When do I get assigned?" He asked.

"When the week is over," Councilor Benford said, "I think you might want to spend a little time with your family before we send you away," the Councilor stood up, "Thanks for dinner," as he turned to walk, he quickly turned back, "Before I forget," he reached into his satchel, "Each member of the GSA Military is issued one of these," he pulled out a single Specter, "Thought it might be nice for you to have him a little bit earlier."

"A Specter," Chris said as he held out his hand for Councilor Benford to place the object in his hand, "I never thought I'd get one for myself."

"Get used to it," Councilor Benford said, "That thing will stay with you until the day you die."

"How do I turn it on?" Chris asked.

"Him," Councilor Benford said, "It's a male."

"How do I turn him on?" Chris asked.

"Tiberius," Councilor Benford said as he turned to leave.

"You have to give him a name," Tiberius said.

Chris looked at the Specter, and spoke, "Wake up… Strike."

The small robot buzzed and moved slowly like when you leave your phone on vibrate, and someone calls you.

It then hovered above the table and shook before the eye sprung to life, "Wow," Strike said before turning to Chris, "Hello Chris."

"You know me?" Chris asked.

"Yes," Strike said as he hovered slightly in front of Chris's face, "I was preprogrammed to recognize you as Chris Redfield, the new record holder of the highest MT-9 score ever."

"So what do you do?" Chris asked.

"I am a Series-VI Military Assistant Robot," Strike said, "I am programmed to assist my assigned soldier with tactical analysis, communication, and to help him power up his suit."

"Can't wait to see you in action," Chris said.

"I think you'll be impressed." Strike said.

That night, as Chris was getting ready for bed, Strike floated around his room looking at his things, "You like old movie posters don't you?"

"I like old movies," Chris said as he slid on one of his white muscle shirts, and sat on the edge of his bed, "Old John Wayne and Paul Walker movies are among my favorites."

"They are really good movies." Strike said.

"I know," Chris said as he laid back in his bed, and covered himself up, "Goodnight Strike."

"You're going to bed," Strike asked, "Now?"

"It's night," Chris said, "And I've spent the last six months sleeping in a bed that amounts to a prison cot. Good night."

Strike floated over to Chris's bedside table, set down on the table, and said, "Good night," before he went into standby mode.

The following morning was a Saturday so Chris slept in, but that was soon broken when he felt something landing on his chest.

As he sat up, he saw Claire standing above him wearing her sleeping pants and a baggy white shirt, and on his chest was a package addressed to him.

"What gives," Chris asked as he pushed the box off his chest, "You couldn't wake a guy gently?"

"That's boring," Claire said.

"I feel sorry for your future husband," Chris said.

"So what do you think the package is?" Claire asked.

"Probably your new uniform Chris," Strike said as he floated next to Chris.

"Let's find out," Chris said as he grabbed hold of the small twist-knob on top of the box, and gave it a ninety-degree twist.

The top of the box hissed before opening slowly, inside was a pair of black leather boots that looked remarkably similar to a pair of Vietnam-Era Jungle boots. The pants were a set of navy blue M43 field trousers, the jacket was a navy blue M43 Field Jacket with stripes of black leather running down the arms, sides of the chest, and down the side of the legs. Planted on top of them all like the cherry on top of a perfect ice-cream sundae was a blue garrison cap with black bordering. Mounted three-fourths of the way up the bicep of the jacket was the flag of the USU. The flag was a bright blue flag with a gold boarder, in the center of the flag was a red circle, in the center of that circle was white four-sided star, and surrounding that star were sixty-eight smaller triquetras (trefoil knots).

"Not bad," Claire said as she picked up the cap, and placed it on her head, "What do you think," she struck a ww2 naval pinup pose.

"Uniform needs a bit of work," Chris said as he removed the cap from his sister's head, and tousled her hair, "But it might work on you one day."

"I told you I have no interest in Military work," Claire said, "You know I want to work for Terrasave." "It's a worthy goal," Chris said, "It's one I couldn't follow though."

 _Guess what happens…_


	3. The Trip

**Part 3 – On the Way**

At the end of the week, Chris awoke to his alarm going off and sat up in his bed. This was the day he had been dreading ever since Councilor Benford had come to talk to him.

"Good Morning Chris," Strike said as he hovered over to his owner.

"Strike," Chris said as he stood up, and walked over to his uniform which his mother had pressed for him.

"You seem depressed," Strike said as Chris removed his sleeping shirt, and slid on a simple white undershirt, "Today's your first day in the USU Military."

"I'll be leaving my family," Chris said as he put on his uniform top, and then his pants, "It's bittersweet Strike."

As he buttoned and zipped his pants, Strike hovered over to him with his belt in a small field of gravity he was hovering in.

"Your feelings on the matter are not lost to me Chris," Strike said as Chris took the belt, and fastened it around his waist, "But your contract almost guarantees a better life for both you and them.

"That's why it's bittersweet," Chris said as he sat on his bed, slipped on his socks, and started to tie his boots, "I'm leaving them to give them a better life."

"I think I get what you're saying," Strike said, "But now we get to see Almas."

"It is exciting isn't it," Chris asked as he finished with his boots, grabbed his government-issued duffle bag that had his name inscribed on it, and threw it over his shoulder.

"Yes," Strike said before handing Chris his hat.

As Chris slid on his hat, he looked up at Strike, "Ready to go?" He asked.

"Yes, I am." Strike said.

Chris walked down the stairs to see his family waiting for him.

Chris first walked up to his mother who hugged him, "You take care of yourself," Maria said, "And please come home."

"I promise," Chris said as he pulled away, "I'll come home."

Chris then walked up to his father, "Good luck son," Tiberius said as he hugged Chris, "I know you'll go far."

"Thanks, dad," Chris said as he pulled away, and turned towards Claire.

Claire threw herself into Chris, and was on the verge of tears, "I'll miss you." Claire said.

"I'll miss you too," Chris said as he squeezed her tighter, "I promise I'll be home soon."

"Come back in one piece," Claire said as they pulled away.

"I promise," Chris said before grabbing the sides of Claire's head, and brought her in close to kiss her forehead.

He petted Kira one last time before walking out the front door of his house.

He took a deep breath and walked on, this was the first step towards his new career, and possibly a new life.

Walking into his town, he saw that his father must have told a few people, because there were a few banners around town saying, "Good Luck, Chris!"

As Chris walked up to the spaceport entry booth and held out his ticket, "Christopher Redfield," he said, "Almas departure."

The booth-master stamped his ticket, and pointed towards the left side of the spaceport, "Down that passage to the left," she said, "Terminal six."

As Chris followed the instructions on where to go, he was the only one in uniform on board the shuttle. The inside of the shuttle was nothing special, two rows of wooden benches with windows that faced the outside.

Chris swore when the lift-off alarm sounded, the engines powered on, and then looked down at his uniform, he could almost hear a very faint train whistle, see smoke, and he could have sworn his uniform looked a little more green.

He must have thought this was what it was like for the soldiers of World War 2 who went away to fight the Japanese and the Nazis: the feeling of unhappiness, anxiety, excitement all hitting you at once.

Unhappiness from leaving your family behind, anxiety from not knowing what you're CO is going to expect of you, and excitement because you're starting a new chapter in your life.

As Chris's shuttle arrived at the spaceport, he exited the shuttle to see that there were six more troops preparing to depart with him then there were on the shuttle.

They were all about his size, roughly 6' feet to 6' 2", but the look on their faces was of vanity, pride, and confidence, and it was obvious they weren't going to get along.

Chris walked to the gate heading to Almas, and after the Ticketmaster, stamped the ticket, he pointed down the hall and said, "Down the hall, and to the right."

Chris walked to the area where that would take him to Almas was, as he exited the long hallway, he found himself staring at a Series-VI Archon Cruiser called the _Queen Zenobia_.

The ship was about five hundred and sixty-two meters long and looked like three cylinders, all different sizes joined inside of each other which was sticking out of the tops and bottoms.

As Chris walked down the umbilical tube to the ship, the six other soldiers ran down the umbilical behind him and knocked him over.

Chris pushed himself up, and as he brushed himself off, he picked up his bag and continued onwards.

As he entered the ship, he saw the large atrium that took up most of the ship, full of stores, restaurants, and hotels for people taking long trips.

Because most ships want to conserve energy when making jumps so they often make several stops before fully arriving at the destination, and the arrival process can last up to four hours, so the hotels are often filled for two straight days.

Chris knew what his first order of business was, he walked up to Crisco-Burger and took the first seat he could find.

The waiter walked up, and spoke, "Welcome to Crisco-Burger," he said, "What'll you have?"

Chris pointed to one of the items on the menu underneath the plexiglass showcase, "Make it a large please." He said.

"Right away sir," the waiter said as he turned around, plugged Chris's order into the computer, and then turned back to Chris, "Drink sir?"

"Blue Boy," Chris said, "From the bottle please."

The waiter grabbed a bottle of Blue Boy from behind the bar, popped it on the bar, and handed it to Chris.

"Off to the front lines," the waiter asked.

"I don't know," Chris said, "I haven't been assigned yet."

"Really," the waiter asked, "What were you hoping for?"

"I was hoping to be assigned to a fighter squadron," Chris said, "But I was handed a contract."

"Really," the waiter asked as he heard the alarm for Chris's order go off, he turned around, and pulled the order out of the dumbwaiter-like opening, "Order up."

As he set the order in front of Chris, Chris looked down at his plate, it was what he always ordered when he went to Crisco-Burger: The Pastrami Special.

The Pastrami Special is a double cheeseburger with strips of fried pastrami instead of bacon and pepper jack cheese on a toasted bun with a side of waffle fries.

Chris pulled a ten-credit bill out of his wallet, and placed it on the counter in front of him, "Keep the change." Chris said.

As Chris ate, he kept thinking about what was going to happen when he reached the capital: he'd be tested and observed for various signs of what the GSA called a 'Section Twelve', which was military slang for someone who could possibly crack under extreme pressure such as a combat situation or an extreme interrogation.

After that he'd be tested to see what kind of weapon he'd be trained to specialize in which could go anyway being as the War on Bioterrorism had cost many squads many brave soldiers.

As he finished his burger, he picked up his pack, and walked down to the path to the hotel he would be staying in for the new couple days.

After checking in, Chris walked into the room to see a very basic room, your basic single-bed room with a closet, and a multi-amenity bathroom.

After putting his things away, he walked to the holo-rooms where he decided to play one of his favorite games, _Bullet Fist_.

The game is an online shooter in which you play in multiple different environments in the early 21st century using any type of period weapon you want.

Chris's character always wore black Vietnam-era jungle boots, Khaki colored TRU-SPEC 24-7 pants, a TRU-SPEC ACU combat shirt, fingerless black gloves, and a ACU Cross Draw tactical vest.

His weapons of choice were a DSR-1 loaded with .308 rounds and an FN Five-seven.

As soon as the simulation started, Chris found he was with a mostly human crowd, there were a few Altanians and a few Tigra.

Most of the Altanians did what most players usually did, they spike up their strength, grab the biggest gun they can find, and assume they're invincible when in reality a big heavy weapon like the Knights Armament ChainSAWs two of them were using were meant to be support weapons, were meant to be used as suppressive weapons.

They think that by carrying heavy weapons like that they'll impress the females that play the game, but really all they do is get cut down when a random sniper nails them with a well-placed bullet, and then they have to go and chose their second loadout which is a usually a small submachinegun with light armor, and then run fast a furiously at their killers spraying bullets like an idiot.

The large street light over their head counted down, red, "BEEP," red, "BEEP," yellow, "BEEP," yellow, "BEEP," green, "FIGHT!"

The teams ran as fast as they could toward the opposite side of the map where their opponents would be coming from.

It was second nature to most of those gamers, go running as fast as you could, and spray your bullets everywhere like you're some kind of immortal anime character who could heal wounds almost instantly.

Loosing a life in this game isn't going to kill you, but getting shot in this game is going to sting like hell, at worst, it'll feel like being shot with a BB gun.

Chris knew better being as most of the people that played the game were teenagers who had yet to go through Basic Training so they had yet to know the first thing about combat.

The first place Chris went was the nearest tall structure he could find, but as soon as he entered, one of the rival team players opened fire on him with an FN SCAR.

Chris quickly jolted into cover, drew his Five-Seven, and peaked out from behind cover as the opposing player was reloading to empty five rounds into him.

The area where the rounds impacted rippled like water and glowed red before the player digitized and fell to small pieces like a program that had been de-resed on TRON.

It must have hurt because one of those shots landed just on the outside of the player's neck.

As he continued up the stairs, he found a good place to set up a spider-hole.

After deploying his defensive devices which were two shield-like walls which according to the layout menu were called Wall Shields, he deployed the tri-pod on his rifle, and aimed his rifle down range.

The first shot he sent nailed one of the hostile Altanian players who was doing almost the same thing that the ones on his team were doing.

There was a word for players that did this, they were called Scout Runners because that's what Scouts would do when playing TF2, run into the line of fire, and instantly get killed.

As he sent another round, he noticed that more of his guys were dying that the hostile team, after checking the stats that appeared as he raised the palm of his left hand, he saw that his team was falling behind by four kills.

After dropping another one of the hostile players, Chris turned around to see one of the hostile players come running up the stairs, only to be cut down by a very cute teenage Tigra carrying an FN P90.

The Tigra walked up to Chris, checking the area with her SMG, "Thanks for that," Chris said as he rebolted his rifle, and held out his hand, "Chris."

"Jill," she said as she shook Chris's hand.

Jill was definitely one cute cat, her short brown hair sat well against the orange skin tone. The white spot that encircled her face contrasted her natural beauty along with the black tiger stripes than ran all over her skin.

She wore a pair of Rothco AR 670-1 boots, TRU-SPEC ACU H2O-Proof ECWCS pants, a white tee-shirt, and a Blackhawk ACU Commando Chest Harness.

"Need a rear-guard," she asked.

"Get behind the shield," Chris said as he gestured Jill to stand behind his Wall Shields.

As Chris dropped another player Jill raised a quick question, "You're Military, aren't you?"

"Not yet," Chris said as he reloaded his rifle, and fired again.

"Not yet," Jill asked as she opened fire on one of the hostile players that came running through the nearest doorway.

"I was offered a contract," Chris said as he noticed something he didn't want to see.

One of the hostiles had called in their death-streaks, which was called _Sudden Death_ : a two-minute interval in which a player gets to pilot an M1A2 Abrams tank. Most players just called it the 'sore loser streak' because the tank was tremendously overpowered, and could only be destroyed with two C4 packs, or a direct hit from a Javelin missile.

"Contract," Jill began.

"Oh shit," Chris said as he picked up his rifle, and grabbed Jill by the wrist, "Let's go."

As soon as they ran, the tank fired a single shell into the side of the building that destroyed both of Chris's Wall Shields.

"You ok," Chris asked as they ran down the stairs

"Yea," Jill said as she checked her stats, "I haven't lost any health."

"Me neither," Chris said, "You got any explosives?"

"Just a few grenades," Jill said as she pulled two M67 hand grenades off the straps of her chest harness.

"Follow me," Chris said as he ushered Jill to follow him.

As the tank crawled up to the side of the building, Jill ran out of the building, and made the shape of an 'L' with her finger and thumb on her forehead, "CAN'T CATCH ME," she yelled before running.

The enemy player leveled the main turret straight at her, but just as he was about to pull the trigger, there was a bumping sound on the roof, and the hatch flew open, "Surprise," Chris said before arming and dropping the trip mine he wedged Jill's grenades on the sides to into the hole, and slamming the hatch shut.

"Shit," the hostile human player said as the grenades exploded, and sent the top of the tank jumping a foot into the air.

It was about to come down right on top of Chris's head before the game ended.

The stats appeared in front of everybody, Chris had achieved a score of 2300 because of him destroying the tank, Jill was in second, and the tank driver was in third.

The driver of the tank walked up to Chris, he was a male Tigra with a white snow tiger skin tone, and deep blue eyes, "Good game," he said as he held out his hand.

"You too," Chris said as he shook his opponent's hand.

Chris played another two games before feeling tired, at the end of the next game, he sought out Jill, "Hey, I'm gonna log out," he said, "Shall we continue tomorrow?"

"You know it," Jill said as she held out her hand, "Noon, standard time?"

"Yes," Chris said.

Chris walked out of the holoroom, and walked back to his cabin on the ship.

"There you are," Strike said as he saw Chris enter, "You've been gone for a while."

"I met someone," Chris said.

"I feel so happy for you," Strike said, "What have you been doing?"

"Playing _Bullet Fist_ ," Chris said, "Favorite game."

"I'll be sure to remember that," Strike said, "Along with the Pastrami Special being your favorite burger at Crisco Burger."

"You can remember things," Chris asked as he picked up his night clothes and walked toward the shower.

"I remember a lot of things," Strike said, "All Specter Units are programed to learn about their master's habits as to form a special bond that will aid in combat."

"So, you learn about us so that we can work better in a combat situation," Chris asked as he put his clothes down next to the sink.

"Yes," Spark said as Chris stripped down to step into the shower.

"That's interesting," Chris said as he turned on the water, and selected seventy-eight-degree Fahrenheit temperature water.

After washing off, he got dressed in his night clothes, walked back into his room, and placed his uniform down on a small device on the desk that would clean it for him.

Chris switched off the lights, and then fell asleep as soon as he covered up.

 _What do you think_ …


	4. War

**Part 4 – War**

Chris awoke one morning to Strike blaring an alarm in his right ear, "What," he asked as he rubbed his forehead.

"I'm sorry to tell you this," Strike said, "But you overslept. We'll be arriving at Almas in twenty minutes, Councilor Benford and Colonel Kaufman will be waiting for us."

"Alright," Chris said as he stood up, and changed into his uniform, as he did, he noticed that Strike was staring at him, "What?"

"Just studying," Strike said, "Help us work better together."

"Indeed," Chris said as he picked up his bag, and threw it onto his shoulder, "Let's go buddy."

As Chris walked out of his room, as he walked over to the departure area of the ship, he saw the soldiers that knocked him over the other day were already waiting.

They looked outside to see Almas docking with the ship, and as soon as the doors opened, and the people filed out into the capital, they entered the lobby.

Chris's first stop was his new apartment that Councilor Benford had given him as part of his contract.

The apartment was located on Almas's famous Silversun Strip which was a series of apartment blocks, shops, restaurants, and amazing views of the city.

The apartment itself was not really amazing, but it was pretty nice: one floor with a small bedroom, adjacent bathroom, moderately sized kitchen, and a very nice view out onto the main square of the capitol.

"Nice place," Strike said, "Should I save this location?"

"As my home," Chris said, "Make sure you differentiate it from my parent's house."

"You got it," Strike said, "You want to head to HQ?"

"Sure," Chris said.

As he walked out of the apartment, Chris noticed Colonel Kaufman was waiting for them.

"Colonel, sir," Chris said as he shot into attention.

"Mr. Redfield," Colonel Kaufman said, "Welcome to Almas."

"I'm surprised to see you here," Chris said, "I wasn't expecting you to greet me."

"Well you should now," Colonel Kaufman said, "Come on, everyone at headquarters is waiting to meet the new High Score."

"High Score," Chris asked as they walked up to the tram that would lead them to headquarters.

"That's what they call you," Colonel Kaufman said, "You have the highest score ever recorded, and being that comes with a price. You have free range to choose whichever squad you want, and because of your contract, you can do whatever you want."

As the entered the back of the tram which was empty, Chris asked, "There been any units that have shown interest?"

"Not yet," Colonel Kaufman said, "Which is why we let you drop off your stuff at your new house, we're heading to HQ. This is the final stage of testing. In the old days, before the MT-8s you would choose what concentration you would like to go into, and you would be assigned a squad. Now that we have the MT-8s we can see where you would be best suited, and then once the squads that are interested in you submit their proposals, it's up to you to decide."

"Interesting," Chris said, "I do think it would be an interesting exper…" Chris looked into the other tram to see a man pull a pistol from his jacket, and aim activate the laser mounted underneath at the Colonel, "GET DOWN!"

As Chris dove on top of the Colonel, the man fired three rounds through the glass and opened the doors to the tram, only for the Colonel to draw his .44 Shepard revolver, and empty two cylinders into the man's chest.

"You ok Chris," Colonel Kaufman asked.

"I'm fine," Chris said as he and the Colonel got off the floor, and walked over to the man lying face-down on the floor of the tram.

As the Colonel covered him with the revolver, Chris pulled out the double-shadow knife he received after leaving Basic Training, placed it against the man's throat, and looked up at the Colonel who nodded.

As Chris turned him over onto his back, the man's face was frozen in a blank expression, "Ike," Kaufman said as his own Specter who hovered up to Kaufman.

"Yes, Rog," he asked.

"Scan him," Kaufman said, "I want to get an I.D. on this dirt bag."

As Chris holstered his knife, he walked over to the weapon he was carrying: a CR-43. The CR-43 is a .357 caliber polymer-built semi-automatic handgun based on the Browning Hi-Power with a spiked striking muzzle, threaded barrel, and a built-in under-barrel attachment that held both a laser-pointer and a flash-light that also acts as a pistol-weight.

As Chris picked it up, he ejected the magazine to perform a brass-check, "Nine rounds in the mag, one in the chamber," he said, he then checked the man's pockets, "Two other mags."

He noticed a slightly strange smell, and raised the magazine to his nose before detecting a distinct smell only he could detect, "What is it," Kaufman asked.

"This thing smells like Red-horned deer venom," Chris said, "Guy was trying to paste you."

"I have an I.D.," Ike said as he looked at Kaufman, and projected the man's information in front of him.

"Nathan Lynch," Kaufman said, "Unemployed, lives at 221 West Merchant Place."

"That's not a street," Strike said as he hovered up next to Chris, "The city doesn't have a street by that name."

"This might help identify him," Chris said as he noticed a red and white umbrella tattooed on his wrist.

"That's the symbol of the Umbrella Foundry," Kaufman said as he stood up, "They've violated the peace treaty."

"This means war doesn't it," Chris asked as he followed Kaufman to the next car where everyone had taken cover.

"Most defiantly," Kaufman said as they walked up to the next cart only for an unknown explosion to derail the front of the tram, "HOLD ON," he yelled as the entire tram derailed, and began to fall towards one of the suburbs inside Almas.

Chris and Kaufman grabbed hold of the vertical rails as the tram car fell far towards the ground, landing with a large crash, and knocking both Chris and Colonel Kaufman unconscious.

As Chris came to, he saw Kaufman was pinned underneath a beam, "Colonel," he said as he tried to crawl over to him, only to find his foot was pinned underneath the beam he was holding onto.

As he looked up, two men dressed in Umbrella fatigues: a pair of black leather combat boots, grey pants that covered the full-body exoskeleton with two knee pads, and a tactical vest with several SMG magazines hanging out came walking up to them with a CR-43 in his hand.

Chris looked around for something to use, and as the man raised the pistol to fire execute the Colonel, Chris noticed the Colonel's revolver well within arm's reach.

Snatching it up, the hostile soldier heard the clicking as Chris pulled back on the .44's hammer, and went to aim at Chris only to lose his right eye as Chris pulled the trigger.

As the man fell backwards, Chris took the opportunity to free his leg, crawl over to the Colonel, and check his pulse, "Is he ok," Strike asked.

"I've got a pulse," Chris said, "Probably just out cold," he then turned his attention to the beam and as he began lifting the beam two more hostile snuck up behind him.

Before they could fire, two gunshots rang out and they fell dead against the floor.

Chris turned around with the .44 Shepard raised to see someone he wasn't expecting running up to him.

"Jill," Chris asked.

"Chris," Jill asked as she jogged up to him, "What are you doing here?"

"I was on my way to HQ with the Colonel," Chris said as he pointed at Kaufman.

"I was on my way to HQ," Jill said as she put the CR-43 she had acquired from one of the dead Umbrella soldiers, and the two of them began to lift, with the Colonel's help as he came round, "The taxi I was on got ambushed by Umbrella soldiers."

"We were on the tram," Chris said as they pushed the beam off of the Colonel, and Chris handed the Colonel his weapon back.

"What are you doing with the Colonel," Jill asked.

"You'll find out when we arrive," Chris said as he walked over to the hostiles, and checked their weapons.

Standard-issue full-auto M82 rifles: polycarbonate body, gas-operated rotating bolt fully automatic, 10.5" barrel, a 4-position butt-stock, chambered in 7.65x53, and a five-prong flash-pattern muzzle break.

"Nice pieces," Jill said as she did a magazine check.

"Yep," Chris said as he picked up his own, and slid a few magazines into his belt, "We need to get to HQ."

"No argument there," Jill said.

"Agreed," Kaufman said as he dumped the spent shells out of his revolver, and inserted four new bullets.

As they moved through the streets, a sniper's bullet narrowly missed foot by one inch, "SNIPER," she yelled, "DOWN!"

As they shot into cover, Kaufman peered out from behind cover onto to have the sniper fire a warning shot towards him.

"They really have it in for you today, sir," Chris said.

"Yep," Kaufman said, "We need to take him out."

"Where is he," Jill asked.

"I have an idea," Chris said as he held out his hands, "Jill, I need you to run towards me!"

"What," Jill asked.

"Run towards me," Chris said, "I'll zero his position, and paste him."

"Are you crazy," Jill asked.

"Trust me," Chris said, "I won't let anything happen to you."

"Ok," Jill said as she put her rifle down, "I trust you."

"Alright," Chris said as he switched his rifle to semi-auto, "1… 2… 3… GO!"

Jill sprinted across the street, the sniper drew a bead on her head, only for the reflection from his scope to give away his position to Chris.

The sniper then saw Chris, and turned his sight towards him only for Chris to fire first: the bullet missed the sniper's scope, but went through the side of his nose, and dropped him like a stone.

"Damn good shot," Kaufman said as he stood up, picked up Jill's rifle, and handed it to her.

"Told you I wouldn't let anything happen to you," Chris said as he put his hand on Jill's shoulder.

"You did," Jill said as she ushered towards HQ which was ahead, "Let's keep moving."

As they proceeded through the streets to HQ, Chris noticed Umbrella forces had almost completely surrounded the building.

"Umbrella has HQ surrounded," Jill said, "Think command is still in there?"

"If anyone can hold out, they can," Kaufman said.

Chris pointed at a small battalion of soldiers, "There are some soldiers down there," he said, "Let's move!"

Running toward the soldiers, they turned to see their Colonel running towards them with two others wearing their uniforms, "Colonel," one of them said as they dropped into cover.

"Give me a status report soldier," Kaufman said.

"You're looking at the high ground here sir," one of them said as he pointed at the HQ, "We're still receiving a signal from inside headquarters. The General Assembly is still alive!"

"Then we need to retake it," Kaufman said before placing his hand on Chris's shoulder, "Chris, think you can cover us?"

"If I had a better rifle," Chris said before waving the M82 around.

"We have just the thing," one of the soldiers said as he kicked a small weapon's crate over to Chris who popped the clips on the case: inside was a SC-18 DMR (Designated Marksman's Rifle).

One of the many DMR's in GSA Military, the SC-18: Chambered in .30-06, made of carbotanium, fitted with four tactical rails, integrated bipod, a 14.5 inch barrel, and a compensated telescopic stock.

"Nice," Chris said as he picked up the rifle, and checked the sights before taking the strangely fully-loaded magazines, sliding them into his belt, and handing the ones he already had to Jill.

"You gonna be ok with that thing," Jill asked as she pointed at the SC-18.

"I'll be fine," Chris said as he slipped a multi-vision scope onto the top rail, inserted a magazine, and pulled back on the cocking-drive, "You worry about keeping that pretty head of yours attached to your shoulder."

"Where are you going to set up," Kaufman asked.

"Where else," Chris said as he ran towards the residents surrounding HQ, and found his way onto the roof of a nearby three-story shop.

"Think the roof will suffice," Strike asked.

"We're about to find out," Chris said as he deployed the bipod on his weapon, and took aim down the sights.

There were multiple soldiers trying to enter HQ, but the door was blocked: Chris's first shot was into that crowd of soldiers.

As the shot dropped the soldier, they turned around only for Chris to let of another series of shots, dropping another four soldiers.

Jill meanwhile was moving up the hill with the other GSA recruits as they were distracted by Chris.

Jill popped out from behind cover as one popped up to shoot at Chris, a concentrated burst sent him against the ground, she then turned to another soldier, and with a single burst, sent him rolling down the hill.

Chris then turned his attention to one of the soldiers who had taken the time to shoot back at him.

The shot that Chris took at him dropped him like a stone.

The other soldiers took down several others, and it only took another ten minutes of fighting to clear the front of HQ.

Chris ran back to join up with Jill, the other recruits, and Kaufman, when he arrived, Kaufman spoke up, "Alright, there could be multiple hostiles inside. Stack up."

As the three other recruits piled up on the left side of the door, Chris, Jill, and Kaufman piled up on the right.

"One…," Kaufman counted, "Two…" everyone tightened their grips on their guns, "Three!"

Kaufman swiped his card, opening the doors, allowing Chris and the soldier closest to the door to enter first, but as they entered, they were met by the guns of several GSA soldiers.

"Colonel," a voice said from behind the line of soldiers.

A man about 6'3" wearing black leather boots, octagon-camo pattern pants, and armor that looked uncannily similar to the armor CryNet nanosuit from the Crysis games that were covered in combat harness that had four pouches on the front walked up to them, pushing their weapons down.

His helmet split in three directions: his goggles slid upwards, and his mask split in half revealing Captain Albert Wesker.

"Captain Wesker," Kaufman said as he held out his hand, "Good to see you."

"You too sir," Wesker said as he shook the Colonel's hand, "You ok?"

"Barley a scratch thanks to these two," Kaufman said as he pointed at Chris and Jill.

"Indeed," Wesker said as he looked at the two of them who stood at attention in front of him, he then walked up to Chris, "You must be Redfield. The new High Score."

"Yes sir," Chris said.

Wesker held out his hand which Chris shook, "You've done well," he said as he returned to his neutral stance, "Time to wake up."

It was then that Wesker, the soldiers, their weapons, and the environment disappeared, revealing they were in a simulator room.

"What the fuck is going on," one of the recruits asked.

"It wasn't real," Chris said as he reached around to the back of his head, and felt a warm spot on the center of his skull, "We're in a simulation."

It was then that a bright flash blinded them all, and brought them back to reality.

They were all sitting in the same model chairs they to the MT-8s in, as the glass retracted, all five of them sat upright as Kaufman, Wesker, and Councilor Benford walked up to them.

"Captain, Colonel, Councilor," Chris said as he sat on the edge of the chair, and rubbed his forehead before standing upright.

"Welcome back to the land of the living son," Councilor Benford said as he put his hand on Chris's shoulder.

 _Guess what'll happen next_ …


	5. New Squad

**Part 5 – New Squad**

"So none of that was real," Chris asked as they moved the soldiers to the medical wing to check on the outcome of their virtual mission.

"The whole thing was a simulation," Kaufman said, "Yours began in the corridor outside your apartment. Nothing about that was real."

"Then how come we don't remember entering the chairs," one of the recruits asked as the nurse checking on him checked his blood pressure.

"A short-term memory wipe," Jill said as the nurse checking on her shinned a concentrated light in her left eye, and then moved to the right.

"Then why do it," Chris asked.

"It was my idea," Wesker said as he walked up to Chris, dressed in his GSA uniform, "I wanted to see what you could do. We need good troops in our fight against Umbrella."

"But that was a simulation," Chris said as the nurse checking on him checked his heart rate, "Why are we going to war if the attack didn't happen."

"Because it did," Kaufman said, "Just not here," Kaufman held out a small tablet which Chris opened.

As soon as he saw the news report, his mood changed to grim, "What," Jill asked, "Chris what is it?"

"When we were in the simulator Umbrella launched a series of coordinated attacks against our outlying colonies," Chris said.

"How many," Jill asked.

"721,472," Chris said, "So far."

"Shit," another one of the recruits said, "When do we get out there?"

"You three," Kaufman said, "Right now. You've been assigned to a rifle company."

"Thank you, sir," one of the recruits said as the medics cleared them, and sent them on their way.

"What about us," Chris asked.

"You have multiple offers on the table," Councilor Benford said, "Many of them from Special Brigade."

"Among them, myself," Captain Wesker said as he walked up to Chris, "I've seen what you can do. You're a good soldier Redfield, and I need good soldiers."

Chris looked down at the tablet before looking over at Jill, "I'm in," he said as he looked back at Wesker, and held out the tablet to him before securing it with a firm grip when the Captain tried to take it, "On one condition."

"Name it," Wesker said.

"Jill comes with me," Chris said.

Wesker looked over at her before looking back at Chris and saying, "You have a bleeding heart, Redfield," he then took the tablet from Chris's hand, "This decision better not make me see it, Corporal."

"Corporal, sir," Chris asked.

"I need someone with a small bit of rank," Wesker said, "You're it until your dead, or until I find someone better."

"Thank you, sir," Chris said as he saluted Wesker.

"Don't get all mushy on me kid," He said, "Come on you two time to meet the team."

Wesker escorted Chris and Jill to a nearby elevator, whereupon pressing a button leading to the lower level, he turned around, "Where are we going, sir," Jill asked.

"To the S.T.A.R.S. locker room," Wesker said, "Now here's the deal, when we enter this area it's strictly business. You leave those teenage attitudes at the door. Am I clear?"

"Yes sir," Chris and Jill said at the same time.

"Good," Wesker said as the door opened to reveal a state-of-the-art training facility, "Welcome to S.T.A.R.S."

"Wow," Jill said as they entered to see multiple soldiers training with the equipment.

"Indeed," Wesker said, "S.T.A.R.S., or the Special Tactics And Reconnaissance Squad is just one branch on the tree that makes up the GSA Military's Special Forces Branch. My unit the Fifty-Eighth Special Operations Brigade, or Alpha Team is the primary assault force for S.T.A.R.S.," he then pointed to the other side of the training area where another group of individuals was practicing, "That's the Seventy-second Special Forces Squadron, otherwise known as Bravo Team is our backup squad."

"Come on Doc," a voice said from the Alpha Team side of the, "End the tour so we can meet these guys."

"Alright," Wesker said as he escorted them over to the rest of the team, the man standing in the weapon's cage was an Altanian, about six-foot-five, and wore a pair of combat boots, black pants, and white shirt with the S.T.A.R.S. logo on the sleeve. He had brown hair that was slicked back, and thin stubble, Wesker pointed to him first, "The big guy over there is Gunnery Sergeant Barry Burton, my XO, the team's weapon expert, and heavy weapons specialist."

"Charmed," he said.

Altanians are a very tall alien species, often reaching as tall as six-foot-ten, they have a light blue skin, can have either white or black hair, and their most unique feature is they have to wear specially-designed goggles when not in armor. Their home planet of Altania is essentially a floating ball of ice rotating on the very edge of a densely-packed solar system that orbits a still-developing T Tauri Star. Every few years one of the planets in the system moves in the way of the sun, virtually blocking out all light on Altania which caused the Altanians to develop eyes with no sclera or irises. This natural development gives them natural night vision but leaves them vulnerable to damaging their eyes in average lighting.

"They call me Bear," Barry said, "You can too."

Wesker then pointed to a cyborg doing pull-ups wearing almost exactly the same outfit as Barry save for he was wearing a red bandanna on his head, "The man over there trying to become an Olympic athlete is Private First Class Joseph Frost," he said.

"They call me Rooster," Joseph said in an unenthusiastic attitude.

"Nice to meet you," Chris said, "Joseph."

Wesker pointed to a five-foot-nine Tigra male with a leopard-pattern skin tone checking his CRB-10 which is another version of the Kriss Vector that fires 10mm bullets from a 30-round magazine, "The man over there fiddling with his weapon is Private Brad Vickers," he said.

"You can call me Wolf," Brad said.

"Very funny Chickenheart," Barry said which caused Brad to flinch.

"Did you have to say it in front of a girl," Brad asked.

"Who are these two," Barry asked as he leaned over the counter.

"These two," Wesker said, "These are our newest members of Alpha Team: Private Jill Valentine, and Lance Corporal Chris Redfield."

"Lance Corporal," Barry asked, "You never promote someone outright when they first join. What's so special about this one?"

"He's the one that made the 68.05 on the MT-8," Wesker said.

It was at that moment that the entire area fell silent, and all eyes fell on Chris.

"A 68.05," Barry asked, "Him?"

"He was born to be a soldier," Wesker said before an alarm went off, and putting his hands on Chris and Jill's shoulders, "Hey, they're playing our song. Briefing room."

Alpha and Bravo team walked up to the elevator, and upon entering, Wesker hit on of the upper-most buttons on the panel, and the elevator started climbing.

"When were you going to tell me," Jill asked.

"That I was the new high score," Chris asked, "Right after I asked you to join the team."

"Then why didn't you," Jill asked.

"Because…" Chris began before Wesker intervened.

"Right now is not the day to be having a lover's quarrel you two," Wesker said, "You want to have this conversation? Have it later tonight after she's done cooking dinner, and you're worn out from playing cowboy with Junior."

That quieted things down quite a bit as the elevator door opened to reveal a long hallway with a single set of double-doors at the end.

The doors automatically swung open when they approached, revealing a long briefing room with enough chairs for the already present members of Alpha and Bravo team, but not Chris or Jill.

"Sorry kids," Barry said as he slapped them on the shoulder, "You want a seat, you have to earn it."

As the members of Alpha and Bravo took their seats, Chris and Jill stood at the end of the room.

As the Colonel entered the room, everyone shot into attention, "Good afternoon teams Alpha and Bravo," he said, "Take your seats," as everyone sat down, the Colonel looked up to see Chris and Jill, "I see you haven't given these two their patches."

"We were going to before the alarm sounded," Wesker said.

"Of course you were Captain," Kaufman said as he started the briefing, activating a holographic map of the universe on the table, "As I'm sure you're all aware, less than one hour ago Umbrella launched a strike against the GSA's outlying colonies. Let me make the entire situation completely clear: we are now at war with Umbrella. Their attacks were not limited to just our outlying colonies," the map on the briefing table zoomed in on the planet Lorena-2, "Umbrella also launched a concurrent strike against the GSA's main research lab on Lorena-2. As most of you are aware, the lab on Lorena-2 is our main facility for research into weapons, defense against chemical agents, and so on and so forth."

"Not to mention home to some of the biggest gambling dens in the universe," Wesker said.

As everyone else in the room chuckled Kaufman spoke up, "Thank you for that Captain."

"What's the status of the lab Colonel," Chris asked.

"Unknown at this time," Kaufman said as the holographic image change to show the names of several of the GSA's top scientists, "We know that when the attack started, the lab's head scientist, Dr. James Marcus is hiding in a safe-room somewhere deep inside the facility with the other scientists."

"Have the attackers made any demands yet," Captain Enrico Marini, the leader of Bravo asked.

"They're commandos working for Umbrella," Kaufman said, "They have an objective, they're not looking for money. It's not clear what their objective is, but we can suspect that it's either to capture or kill our scientists."

"I guess our job is to secure the facility," Wesker asked.

"Secondarily," Kaufman said, "Your primary goal is to locate and extract Dr. Marcus and his staff before Umbrella does."

"We'll get them out sir," Wesker said.

"Good," Kaufman said, "Muster on the well deck in ten," he then pointed at Chris and Jill, "Sergeant Burton get those two some armor and weapons."

"Yes sir," Barry said as he stood up, and ushered Chris and Jill to follow him.

As they entered the elevator, Jill asked, "What kind of weapons will we be using?"

"You'll see when you get down there," Barry said before looking at them both, "Here's the deal: Wesker is giving you a chance Redfield. The only reason she's here is because you wanted her here. He doesn't take kindly to that. No matter what Wesker says, you two watch each other's backs. He's going to be worried about his own ass rather than yours."

"Thank you, Sergeant," Chris said.

"Don't mention it," Barry said as the exited on the team's floor, "Just stick with me you two. I'll teach you the ropes."

"Weapon time," Chris asked.

"Yep," Barry said as he walked over to the armor locker, and showed off their armor which was exactly identical to the one they saw Wesker wearing in the holographic program, "The boots have inch and a half thick rubber soles, designed to take the shock of a ten foot fall when combined with the armor," he then moved onto the pants, "The pants are 100% fireproof, and are made of a thermal regulating fabric that can keep you warm or cold in extreme weather," he then pointed at the rest of the armor, "Finally, the armor: the flexible parts in-between the tungsten-titanium composite is a composite material made of over sixteen thousand individually wound titanium cables. It'll stop anything up to a fifty caliber."

"Why not above," Chris asked.

"They tried," Barry said, "But anything that can stop a weapon like that is too heavy."

"Alright," Chris said, "How do you put it on?"

"The armor itself is just a simple matter," Barry said as he pointed at a small station that had three very small spikes, "The armor will adhere to the natural contours of your body."

Chris walked up to the machine, and as he went to press his back up against the main panel, Barry stopped him and pointed at his jacket.

"Oh right," Chris said as he removed his jacket, and handed it to Strike who grabbed it and Chris's beret.

As he pressed his back against it, three small prongs anchored a solid plate to his back.

"Now simply press the button on your back," Barry said.

Chris reached over his shoulder and pressed a single button in-between his shoulders.

A series of metal apertures folded out from the plate, connecting at his elbow, wrist, and the joints of his fingers, and at his knees and ankles.

The black muscle-fiber-like armor then grew out from the apertures and went all the way down his body.

What followed next the helmet sprung forth from the back of the neck, covering Chris's mouth, eyes, and head.

"Nice," Chris said as the goggles sprung to live, and a small box went around the room studying everything it could.

"Your turn," Barry said as he ushered towards Jill.

As Jill stepped into the machine and was given her armor, Barry handed them their pants and boots.

As soon as they slid those two pairs on, Chris pointed at the visor, and asked, "How do you retract this?"

Barry simply pressed two contact points on Chris's temples which retracted the helmet back into the armor, "Simple as that," he said as he walked over to the weapon cage, "Now my favorite part: weapons," he pulled out two pistol cases.

The Beretta emblem printed on the top of the case was most obvious, upon opening the cases, inside was a TR-92 with four magazines.

"Nice," Chris said as he pulled the pistol out of the case.

"Beretta TR-92," Barry said, "Four magazines that hold 15 rounds each."

The Beretta TR-92 is a 10mm semi-auto handgun that comes with a built-in compensator-silencer-laser pointer-barrel weights. Modeled after the Beretta 90-two, the gun comes with a tip-up barrel, an ambidextrous thumb-safety, slide-release, and magazine release. It is pretty much the standard issue for the GSA military, and it is a tried and tested reliable weapon despite being relatively inexpensive which is a surprise considering it is a Beretta.

"Sweet," Chris said as he slid the magazine into the gun, and slid it into the holster on the combat harness that was strapped to the pants like a pair of suspenders that connected in the middle of the chest.

"Primary firearms," Barry said as he walked over with a pair of SMGs, "Primary weapons: Dynamic Arms KP-9s with four mags."

The KP-9 is no other word for it: a rip-off of the HK MP5, save for the stock is six inches long as opposed to two, the magazine is straight instead of curved, and there is a cover of the barrel and grip that acts as a mount for a scope that has a meat-tenderizer-style striking-muzzle on the front.

"Bare bones," Chris asked.

"You can add attachments on the way," Barry said as he ushered them towards the elevator again, "Come on. This is the fun part."

 _Guess what'll happen next_ …


End file.
